


12 Days of HxH Drabbles

by zoldyckstripshow



Series: Hunter x Hunter Drabbles [3]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5248709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoldyckstripshow/pseuds/zoldyckstripshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of HxH holiday drabbles! Lots of different ships and different AU prompts, for some holiday cheer in the fandom. Expect snowball fights, tree decorations, cooking, and eggnog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. KilluGon

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah! Each chapter is a unique drabble, and they're not really related, with one exception. Due to the shortness of the pieces, there won't be any sex stuff (sorry u sinners lmao), but there will be some swearing. 
> 
> I would also like to dedicate this series of drabbles to Kaitlin! This is part of their Christmas present, so I included a few of their favorite ships (which also happen to be popular in the fandom). 
> 
> Feel free to use these drabbles as prompts for a larger piece, if you so desire! Happy holidays!

It was mid-December, and they’d been blessed with frequent snowfall. The quiet town was constantly blanketed in calming white. Holiday tunes were constantly playing in the shops, twinkling lights lined the rooftops and the soft scent of pine lingered in the air, with mint and cinnamon and apple cider. Killua relished his walks through the decorated streets and found himself humming along to the music. Yes, he loved all of it, except for the ice.

Thick sheets of ice made stepping outside dangerous, even for someone as agile and steady-footed as he. Every few days, he’d have to clear the porch of ice, since no one else in his apartment building bothered to do it.

Today was one such day.

Shovel in hand, he stepped outside, his breath clouding up in front of him. Someone was playing Jingle Bells on the guitar above him. Glancing up, he saw Christmas lights strung up around an open window, and the shape of someone very clearly jamming out as it danced around.

Killua smiled and dug the shovel into a pile of snow and ice. It made a satisfactory _crunch_ , but the work, as always, was grueling and tiring.

Ten minutes later, he could feel the cold creeping into his fingers. The shovel slipped, clattering onto the ground, as he adjusted his gloves. There was still so much ice left, but he was getting numb. Damn.

“Here, try these.”

He turned to see a boy about his age, holding out a thick pair of mittens. Killua recognized him instantly: he was one of Killua’s neighbors from a complex across the street. Killua had seen him carrying shopping bags from the town center often, but they’d never spoken.

“Oh, uh, thanks?” Killua took the mittens hesitantly.

“No problem! I noticed you do a lot of shoveling, so I picked them up for you, as a gift.” The boy’s voice was cheery. His cheeks were pink with cold, but there was a wide grin on his face, nonetheless. His teeth were _really_ straight and _really_ white. It was almost blinding.

Killua blinked. “I can keep them?”

“Of course, silly! That’s what gifts are for. I’m Gon, by the way.”

“I’m Killua.”

“Nice to meet you, Killua! Oh, I almost forgot! I got you some cocoa, too.” He felt a warm cup being pressed into his hands. Immediately, the numbness began to melt away, and he felt blood circulating properly again. It worked maybe a little too well – his cheeks started to burn with a hot blush.

“Wh – what? You got me a hot chocolate?”

“You looked cold.”

“I – well, yeah.” Killua replied tactfully. There were other words on the tip of his tongue, words like _why_ , and _your freckles are really attractive_ , and _how did you know I love chocolate, what the fuck_. But he stammered out a weak, “Thank you,” instead.

Gon beamed at him. “Do you want help shoveling?”

“Sorry?” Killua felt his throat constrict with surprise and nervousness. 

“I can help you shovel the ice, if you want.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Of course! It’s no fun if you’re out here by yourself, especially during the holidays.”

Killua didn’t know what to say to that, so he just stood there for a moment, looking at the icicles dusting Gon’s hair, and the tiny snowflakes on his nose.

“If you want.” Killua eventually muttered, averting his gaze.

“I’d love to! And then you can help me bake some cookies for my friends, as a surprise –” Gon suddenly looked mortified, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“What is it?”

“Oh no, I spoiled it.”

“Spoiled what?”

“It’s not a surprise if I just told you about it!” Gon’s lip jutted out in a pout.

“About the cookies? But you said they were for your friends.”

“Exactly! And we’re friends now, right? So now I have to come up with something else, for you.”

Killua coughed. “Friends?” He repeated.

“Don’t you want to be friends?”

“I – I’m – I mean, we could, but –”

“Then it’s settled! You’ll get a special present, as a thank you for helping me bake. I’m not very good at it.”

“…me neither.”

“Oh, then it’ll be an adventure!”

Gon started rambling on about his previous baking disasters, hands moving animatedly. Killua just watched, the steam from his hot chocolate winding up through the air, and he suddenly wished there was more ice on the ground, so he could stand here forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow will be HisoIllu!


	2. HisoIllu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're beauty, they're grace, they'll stick cards and needles in your face

“Thank you.” Illumi took the ice skates and sat down, starting the arduous process of lacing them correctly. There were perhaps twenty different methods he knew of; Silva and Kikyo had included it in his training as a child, because apparently, a large percentage of assassinations took place on ice rinks. It made sense, in a really twisted way. One well-placed kick could decapitate someone easily. It also made it harder for targets to run away.

He could hear chuckling from his left, and the oozing molasses of Hisoka’s aura washed over him. The clown was tiptoeing around in his skates, testing his balance with extravagant poses and garnering the attention of the ice rink’s employees. Illumi guessed if there was a pole anywhere nearby, Hisoka would be spinning around on it, “accidentally” slicing up the spectators with the blades of his shoes.

Illumi still wasn’t sure why they were friends.

“Are you ready, yet?” Hisoka’s slippery smooth voice cooed at him. Illumi fixed him with a glare.

“If I say no, you’ll drag me out there anyway, potentially killing me in the process when I trip and you skate over my neck.”

“Bingo.”

Straightening up, he stretched his legs, testing the laces for sturdiness. “Can we just try to get in and out without any casualties? Cleaning blood off an ice rink is difficult.”

“I can't make any promises..." Hisoka teased. "But there's no one particularly appetizing nearby, so.”

Hisoka’s practice of fighting everyone who posed a threat was mindboggling to Illumi, who was raised to leave no traces of his existence wherever he went. Body counts were the complete opposite of stealth. But Hisoka was admittedly strong enough to afford such negligence. In an honest one-on-one fight, between the two of them, Hisoka would have a good chance of winning. His Hatsu was just so versatile. Would Illumi’s needles even be able to pierce it? Couldn’t Hisoka just coat himself in the sticky Nen and be impervious to cuts or stabs? Illumi probably had more endurance, so perhaps after a couple hours, he could wear Hisoka’s defenses down, and get a needle in. It would only take one.

“You’re going to drip blood lust onto the floor, darling.”

“...oops.” 

Unfortunately, some of Hisoka’s carelessness had rubbed off on him, and he’d lost some of his mysterious edge. He was much too easy to read. Maybe it was time to go home and train some more. Spending the holidays at the manor was always worthwhile. 

Hisoka was the first in the rink, skating around the edges lazily while he warmed up. His gait was slow and heavy, bordering on graceless. Clearly he was better suited to fighting than dancing. Illumi's breath came out in small clouds as he took a few steps onto the ice. The blades skimmed the surface with familiar ease, and he began tracing a figure 8, his long limbs flowing gracefully and the river of his hair floating behind him.

“You could be a professional, you know. You’re so nice to look at.” Hisoka leered, following Illumi doggedly. 

“I am already a professional,” came Illumi's flat reply. 

“Not a professional _assassin_ , a professional skater.”

“I don’t think my family would be pleased if I suddenly became an Olympian.”

“You mean they’re intolerant of other art forms besides killing?”

“I’m surprised _you’re_ tolerant of other art forms besides killing.”

“Mmm. It doesn’t happen often. But you’re just so entrancing.”

“That’s enough.”

Hisoka continued to smirk at him, but obliged, turning away to skate in the other direction. Illumi pinned his hair up out of his face before speeding up, dancing circles around his clownish friend, letting muscle memory carry him through the motions. It was a nice break from killing. There wasn’t any real need to be alert, since death wasn’t an imminent possibility.

Well, as long as he remained interesting to Hisoka, but they’d been friends for a few months now, and nothing had gone wrong thus far.

“Care to tango?” Hisoka’s hand, with unnaturally long nails, was extended in front of him, as an invitation. Illumi did, in fact, know how to tango, but he guessed it was a euphemism for something more sinister. He took the hand anyway.

Illumi thought he could see goosebumps on Hisoka’s pale skin, for he hadn’t dressed up at all to brace against the cold, but it could just be the lighting.

Immediately, he was pulled into an intimate embrace, his face flush against Hisoka’s chest, and he felt himself being whisked around in an elaborate sequence of movements. Obviously Hisoka also knew how to tango. He was dipped down – in a way that was probably supposed to be erotic but just felt awkward – so low his hair bun touched the ice, Hisoka hovering above him, his thin lips pulled into a smirk. The next second, he was hoisted into the air, and Hisoka was holding his entire body up with one arm. Illumi blinked slowly at the employees, who were staring.

“Put me down.”

“You don’t like couples’ skating?”

Illumi kicked insistently, the blade of his shoe slicing off a few pink strands of hair. Hisoka grumbled but honored the request, dropping him.

“Why do you ruin everything with your romantic advances.”

“Oh, you’re hurting my feelings.”

“You don’t have feelings.”

“I have feelings for you~”

“Sexual ones.”

“The most important kind.”

Illumi huffed with indignation, but a small smile crept up on him, and he turned away to make more figure 8’s before his partner noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, consider [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EM-wpXuP90E), for Chrollo. 
> 
> Tomorrow will be PhinFei!


	3. PhinFei

Feitan reached into the chip bowl, feeling around for a second before pulling out a small slip of paper. He glanced at it. Phinks. A wide grin broke out over his face, though it was mostly concealed by his scarf, and he snapped back into neutrality, watching the other Troupe members as they picked their names.

This year’s Secret Santa was being held early in the month, more as a teaser to the actual Christmas party that would come later, than anything. Chrollo was really into the holidays and they indulged him every year.

“Everyone’s good? No one drew their own name? Okay, you know the drill. No price limit, no death limit, go wild.”

The order was succinct and traditional. Feitan felt the glee boiling in his veins as he darted away from the group, thinking through all the things he could possibly get Phinks this year. What had his friend mentioned? What did he need?

Hair gel, maybe. But that was such an ordinary thing. A new car? They could steal one any time they wanted, and Phinks didn’t really like driving. Another tracksuit? He had hundreds already. Feitan could torture the creative director of Gucci into designing an entirely new line just for Phinks, but that would take too long. They only had a week to get these presents.

He vaguely remembered Phinks mentioning his jackets being too thin for some of the colder months, especially when the Troupe traveled to remote locations where the seasons were harsher. Chrollo would sometimes offer his thick coat, but Phinks would refuse, saying the boss’s warmth was more important than his own.

An idea clicked in Feitan’s head and he sprinted towards town.

Slipping into the most expensive department store, he found the men’s section, moving to the outerwear.

Too big, too furry, too thin, too pink… but ah, this one was perfect. Feitan held it up in the mirror just to make sure, measuring it against his slight frame. He knew from experience that Phinks’ shoulders were about twice as wide as his own, and his waist was a good six inches longer.

“Do you need help with fitting?” A sales associate approached him with a sickly sweet smile. The implication made his eyebrow twitch. Of course he wasn’t purchasing this for himself, that should’ve been obvious.

“No, thank you.” It was the season of generosity, after all. It was generous of him to let her live.

Feitan was out of the store in a flash, jacket in hand, too fast for the security cameras or anti-theft towers to catch.

His next destination was a tailor and embroidery shop. He paid in cash, thinking it would turn out better if the seamstress wasn’t terrified for her life, and gave her explicit details. He tipped generously for same-day completion. When it was finished, he paired it with some of Phinks’ favorite snacks and jewelry collections, with ten-thousand dollar watches for added flair. They were thieves, after all.

Finally, on the day of the party, when it was Phinks’ turn to open his present, Feitan pulled his scarf up further on his face to hide his expression. He didn’t want to give anything away just yet.

The luxurious leather unfolded in front of everyone, and Phinks’ eyes grew wide as he saw the hand sewn emblems: a small version of the Troupe’s spider with his name in hieroglyphics, on the breast pocket, and a giant portrait of a Sphinx on the back. The jacket’s interior was silk, and there was a collection of detailed scripts towards the neckline, near the tags. Feitan knew he’d be able to read them. It was a collection of their personal inside jokes, also written in hieroglyphics, that were pretty to look at but also a reminder of some of their adventures.

There was a soft silence as everyone appreciated the gift. Phinks sniffed loudly, turning away to wipe his nose on his tracksuit sleeve. It was a testament to their genuine bonds that no one laughed.

“Thanks, Fei.”

He was wrapped in a tight hug, the smell of expensive cologne and shampoo enveloping Feitan in its warm familiarity. There were quiet mutters around the group, “How did he know it was Feitan?” “Did Feitan sign a card or something?” but they didn’t say anything, choosing to keep it a secret for themselves. The only person who seemed to understand was Chrollo; he’d picked up the ability to read hieroglyphs years ago, a direct result of Phinks’ influence.

A few exchanged presents later – glass blown Christmas ornaments with diamonds inside to match Chrollo’s earrings, a large set of 24k gold rings for Franklin, the (illegally obtained) prototype of a new data chip for Shalnark – and it was Feitan’s turn. He was handed a box that felt like it weighed around a hundred pounds. The wrapping was off in a second, and he peered inside.

His heart almost stopped entirely.

It was a collection of 2nd century books about torture and invasive surgeries, from the Dark Continent. The markings on the spine told him they were all first editions, and after flipping through a few pages, he noticed they were hand-written. These were the originals.

At an auction, they would cost billions, perhaps trillions of Jenny, especially for a collector or historian.

Chrollo leaned over his shoulder and in a rare display of genuine emotion, gasped. “Who was Feitan’s Secret Santa? How did you get these?”

It was a direct question from the boss, and even though it broke the rules of publicly announcing the Secret Santa’s identity before everyone had received their gifts, it had to be answered.

Phinks shuffled forward, scratching the back of his neck. He muttered, “I knew a guy.”

Feitan launched himself forward, jumping into Phinks’ arms, spewing compliments and thank you’s in Chinese, unable to contain himself.

The rest of the Troupe members, who weren’t well-versed in ancient texts or Chinese, just stood and watched, still not sure why Chrollo was close to tears as he touched the covers of one of the books and why Feitan was planting sloppy kisses all over Phinks’ blushing face.

Perhaps it was better if they never knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow will be LeoPika!


	4. LeoPika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone's favorite momdad ship lmao

“Just hear those sleigh bells ring-a-ling, ting-ting-ting-a-ling too~”

The tiniest of frowns tugged at Kurapika’s lips. It was around four in the afternoon, and he was in the middle of a meditation session. To clear the clutter out of his mind and strengthen his resolve, Kurapika had taken it up as a hobby, at his mentor’s recommendation. He was skeptical at first, but after a month of practice, found that it did leave him feeling refreshed and energized. Now it was built into his schedule.

Proper meditation required silence in the apartment and a good deal of concentration. Normally, this wasn’t a problem, because Leorio was usually at work and Kurapika had the place to himself, but today was the beginning of Leorio’s holiday vacation, and there was Christmas music blasting from their stereo in the living room.

“Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!”

“Leorio,”

“Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling, yoo-hoo!”

“Leorio!”

“Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you –”

Kurapika cracked an annoyed eye open. He didn’t like repeating himself. “ _Leorio!_ ”

“Huh? Did you say something?”

“I’m meditating. Can you keep it down?”

Leorio poked his head through the bedroom door. He was wearing a Santa hat, complete with jingling bell decorations. He beamed. “Oh, sorry, was I being loud? You know what the holiday season does to me. Hey, you should help me decorate! I don’t have your designer skillset.”

“Can it wait? I’m trying to focus.”

“You meditate three times a day. At some point, it stops being beneficial and becomes an additional stressor.”

“Leorio –”

“You can’t argue with me about this, I’m a doctor.”

Kurapika heaved a sigh. That was always his argument – he was a certified surgeon and pediatrician, so he knew best. In all likelihood, he probably did. But that wasn’t the point.

“If I want to improve my Nen, I need to practice.”

“You can practice later. Let’s get our stockings set up! There’s a fire in the fireplace and everything.” Without waiting for an answer, Leorio grabbed his arm, dragging him out into the living room. Christmas music was still playing softly, and indeed, there was a crackling fire that warmed the room. Kurapika hadn’t noticed how cold he’d been. He shivered a little and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Honestly, I’m amazed you had the resolve to become a doctor, you’re so easily distracted.”

“I’m on vacation! What else would I be doing?”

“Working to strengthen your Hatsu? Practicing techniques? Reading up on medical applications of Nen?”

“Hey, none of that. You’re too studious. You’ll overwork yourself.” Leorio’s tone became soft. He pulled Kurapika into an affectionate hug, resting his chin gently on the blonde’s head.

“Meditation isn’t work…” It was supposed to be relaxing, but the argument fell on deaf ears. Leorio’s mind was made up. Kurapika couldn’t find it in himself to protest; there was comfort in the familiar smell of Leorio’s clothing and the softness of his hoodie.

The song switched in the background. Leorio nudged him in the side with his elbow, smiling.

“What –”

“Baby, it’s cold outside,”

“Oh, _no_.”

“Baby, it’s cold outside,”

“You’re kidding –”

“Hoping that you’d drop in, I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice,” Leorio interlocked their fingers and started swaying with the music.

“I’m not going to sing –”

“Beautiful, what’s your hurry? Listen to the fireplace roar,” Leorio waggled his eyebrows and squeezed his hand.

Kurapika sighed begrudgingly. “So really, I’d better scurry,”

“Beautiful, please don’t hurry,”

“But maybe just half a drink more,”

“Put some records on while I pour,”

Leorio spun him around in a delicate circle and they started up a lazy waltz, close enough together that their chests were touching and Kurapika could smell peppermint on his breath.

“Have you been eating candy canes?”

“Yeah, do you want one?”

“Later.”

Kurapika laid his head on Leorio’s shoulder and let his eyes flutter closed. Leorio pressed a kiss to his forehead. He sighed contentedly.

 Maybe a day off from meditation wouldn’t be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnH_RGyzbSU) is the song they're singing, with those same vocal parts, omfg.
> 
> Tomorrow is ShootKnuckle!


	5. KnuckleShoot

“This is harder than Nen training.”

“No, it’s not, you liar.”

“I’m not lying! This is really difficult. Getting it to lay flat and spread evenly is hard. Am I doing this right?”

“No, you have to make sure it’s sticky, like this.”

“Why can’t we use something else?”

“Do you have anything else that tastes good?”

“Let me check.” Knuckle dug through his box of baking materials. He held up a small jar of peanut butter. “This?”

“Why is that in with your cooking stuff?”

“Peanut butter cookies.”

“Well, it could work, but it’ll look weird and taste funny.”

“You want to _eat_ it when we’re done?”

“It will be literally made of candy. Won’t you want to eat it?”

Knuckle looked down at the messy beginnings of their gingerbread house. “No, this is going to take a lot of time and effort to complete.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’d feel bad just eating it like that.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

Shoot’s purple hair was tied up into a bun with candy canes pinning it together. He was holding up slices of gingerbread with all of his hands while they laid the “concrete” of the foundation. Knuckle finished paving the pan with peanut butter and gave the signal, squatting down to watch closely as all four walls of the house were stuck in place at once.

“Nice!” They started a chain of high-fives, including each of Shoot’s extra hands. This was a tradition they’d started long ago, when they first met, since Knuckle felt guilty leaving the floating hands out of anything.

Shoot popped a stray gumdrop into his mouth and thought for a second. “Okay, so we have to make gingerbread men for Morel, Knov, us, Palm, the Chairman –”

“Can ours be holding hands?”

“Sure. Biscuit and Beans,”

“Kite and Killua and Gon…”

“Ging?”

“…do we have to?” Knuckle groaned.

“He’s part of the family.”

“Fine. But I’m making him look like a garbage can.”

“I’m sure he won’t notice. Oh, don’t forget Potclean.”

“Potclean can’t eat, Shoot.”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

Knuckle set to work with the icing. He took extra care holding the bag, otherwise – as they’d found out earlier – the bag would literally explode. His too-strong muscles made finessing these types of things a real hassle. Shoot started constructing the rest of the house, giving it a front lawn, a set of chocolate bar French doors, and an Almond Roca fence. Ferrero Rocher hedges decorated the faux-property. Only the best, for their friends and colleagues.

A tiny _mew_ reminded Shoot to move slowly. Their cat, Whiskers, was curled up in his sweatshirt hood, obviously upset about being woken.

“There’s nothing here we can give her, is there? All this is dangerous.” Knuckle gestured to the mounds of candy and chocolate.

“Yeah. I might have some tuna somewhere. Can you hold her?”

Knuckle cradled the cat in his arms while Shoot rummaged around in the fridge. The sleepiness left her eyes, and he let her claw her way up to his shoulder, perching on it and watching as he continued to decorate the gingerbread men.

“Where’s the grey icing?”

“I left it by the sink.”

Shoot popped open the canned tuna and poured it into a bowl. Immediately, Whiskers jumped down from Knuckle’s shoulder, planting a messy paw print on the face of one of the gingerbread caricatures. Her tiny claws kneaded into its face and she trekked what was left of the icing across the table to the tuna bowl.

They both stared down at the mangled mess. 

“…was that Ging’s?”

“Yeah.”

“…leave it like that.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t tell Gon.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is ;)


	6. KilluGon II

“Killua, can I stand on your shoulders to hang these lights?”

“Huh? Idiot, you could fall off and hurt yourself, no. Get a ladder.”

“But Killua – Ging’s using the ladder, and he won’t be done for a while…”

“Why?”

“Look.”

Gon pointed to his father, slumped on the top rung of the ladder, sound asleep, lights still hanging loosely between his fingers.

Killua ran his fingers through his hair with exasperation. “Freecss’, honestly…”

For the past week, he’d been hanging out with Gon and his father a lot, after that fateful day in the parking lot. Originally, Killua thought the whole thing was some sort of fluke, or maybe a dream, but no – Gon really was as kind and warm as when they first met, and every day, he pushed the boundaries of what Killua believed was possible in a human being.

“So? Can I stand on your shoulders?”

“I’ll stand on yours instead. Kneel down, so I can get a grip.”

“But Killua, no! What if you fall?”

“What, so it’s okay if you get hurt but not me?”

“Exactly! I won’t risk injuring you.”

Killua felt his lip tremble with embarrassment. “St – stupid! I’ll hang the lights, just kneel down.”

“Janken?”

“Fine.”

This wasn’t the first time they’d solved a debate with Janken, and it would definitely not be the last. They were evenly matched and the outcome was similar to flipping a coin. This time, Killua won, and Gon stomped his foot with mock frustration. He kneeled obediently nonetheless.

“Okay, on three, stand up.” Killua instructed, slowly placing his feet on Gon’s shoulders. “One, two, three.” He was hoisted into the air, almost hitting his head on the rafter. Killua could just make out the hooks for the string of lights if he squinted. Reaching out to hook the first one, Killua threw off their equilibrium and Gon’s shoulders shook a little.

“Killua, don’t move, I can’t –”

“Okay, okay! Sorry. Can you go towards the wall a little bit?”

“I’ll try…”

Gon inched forward, his hands tightly gripping Killua’s heels, locking him in place. Killua stretched his arm as far as it would go and managed to hang one section of the lighting.

“Now a little to the right,”

“Okay!”

Killua grappled with the next section of lights for a few seconds. He wanted them all to be evenly draped across the roof’s overhang, so that maybe it would look like garland on a tree, but that required measurement and a steadier stepladder. He settled for what he could get. If Ging ever woke up, he could fix it, later.

When he was satisfied with the lights, he leaned in another direction, to fasten the last strand. 

“Nice! Okay, one more, to the left just a tad –”

“Wait, wait, Killua, not yet, I’m not –”

His balance shifted and Gon staggered under him. Instinctively, Killua let go of the lights when he started slipping, and he let out a cry as he fell back into a mound of snow with a _poof_. It was so deep he hardly felt any pain, and snow fell onto his face from the edges of the hole he’d created.

Gon’s wholesome laughter came from somewhere above him. He blinked his eyes open, staring up into the freckled face of his neighbor, who was damn near melting the snow with his brilliant smile. Killua almost had to turn away; it was like looking into the sun.

“Killua, that was so silly! Are you okay?”

“I – what was silly? I fell!”

“But it was so cute! The noise it made when you landed was really funny. You’re not hurt, right?”

Killua grumbled but shook his head. “Help me up!”

Gon reached down and grabbed his arms, hoisting him out, leaving an incredibly deep indentation of his body that resembled a failed snow angel. Killua brushed himself off but the damage was done. Freezing water was seeping into his clothes and into his skin, soaking him with an unforgiving coldness that shook his bones. His body shuddered and his teeth began to chatter.

“Killua, look!” Gon pointed at his father. “I can’t believe he’s still asleep, you were really loud.”

“Shut up.”

Gon seemed to notice his shivers, his mouth falling open in surprise. “Oh, no, you’ll catch a cold like this! Here, I’ll hold your hands until we get inside!”

Killua’s body went rigid and the protest was lost in his throat as Gon’s warm hands clasped his own, their fingers threading together like they were made to be that way.

“Do you want me to make you some hot chocolate? I have marshmallows and vanilla flavoring, or if you’d rather have a candy cane to stir it with, that’s fine too…”

Killua tuned out Gon’s excited babbles, focusing instead on the heat of his hands and how tightly they were linked together, and how much he wished he could have this sensation all year-round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is the Phantom Troupe!


	7. The Phantom Troupe

“I want a good, clean fight. No repeats from last year.”

Everyone chuckled as Chrollo spoke, remembering the disasters from previous fights. Uvogin had once actually taken a set of civilian hostages and caused an international incident. More recently, Bonolenov’s Jupiter had caused an avalanche, destroying two nearby cities. They were more careful this time, hiding in a secluded area in the mountains, to keep the fun to themselves.

“Can we use Hatsu?”

“If everyone agrees to it.” There were nods of consensus around the circle. “If no one has any objections, we start on the count of three.” Bodies tensed, muscles teetering on the edge of action, as everyone prepared for the necessitated split-second reaction. “One, two, three.”

Chaos erupted and there was an immediate onslaught of snowballs raining down from the sky.

Everyone scattered, taking their positions and readying themselves for an intense battle that would last well into the night. It was a friendly way of blowing off steam; they could exercise and test each other, but there was still a very real danger of injury, especially if Hatsu was permitted.

Kortopi, Franklin and Pakunoda worked together, creating a mass stockpile of bullet-filled snowballs. Machi and Shizuku were in a tree, staying out of the worst of it, and intercepting anything that came their way with a spider web of Nen threads. Shalnark was forbidden from playing, since one year, he’d manipulated everyone (except Chrollo) into eating snow for an hour.

Thus, most of the carnage came from the Troupe’s fighters: Feitan, Phinks, Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Bonolenov. Feitan was largely responsible for the hail of snowballs, his speed making him a perfect aerial attacker. Phinks would act as his defense and block anything headed his way. Uvogin, like usual, uprooted a tree and used it as a sword, waving it around in the air while Nobunaga hid in its branches and threw snowballs from safety.

A particularly large and enhanced snowball shook the ground with its impact. Nearby trees swayed, and snow slid off their branches, narrowly missing Chrollo, who was reading a book under an elm. A couple more snowballs whizzed by his head with enough force to stop a semi.

“Sorry, boss!” Uvogin called over his shoulder.

It was an unspoken rule amongst the Troupe: don’t aim for Chrollo, unless you had an explicit death wish. He was only here to moderate and play referee. There had been one occasion, where a dirty snowball had grazed his shoe, scuffing the leather just _so_. No one liked to talk about what had happened next. 

“Hey Bono, I’m going to shove a snowball in every single one of your fuckin’ –” Uvogin got cut off when he was shot in the face with one of Franklin’s bullet-balls. He spit out snow and blood trickled down his cheek.

Tugging his scarf upwards for warmth, Feitan snickered. “Too cocky.” He sliced through some of the oncoming attacks with ease, leaving only diamond dust glittering in the air.

“Hey, Uvo! Spend less time taunting and more time swinging, huh?” Nobunaga called from inside the tree as he pelted Franklin in the face with a barrage of snowballs.

Feitan was the first to see it. The powdered remains of a lone snowball, caught in the fur of Chrollo’s jacket. Time slowed down and everyone stopped moving as they, too, saw what had happened. There was an eerie silence.

Chrollo shut his book.

The tension was palpable in the air as all eyes found Phinks, whose body was rigid with terror. He took a step back instinctively. It wasn’t nearly far enough. Chrollo was behind him in a flash, and he caught sight of a beige tarp before the world warped in front of him.

“Seriously?” Nobunaga and Uvogin burst out laughing, setting down their weapons and collapsing into a shaking heap in the snow.

“Nice one, boss.”

“Hey Phinks, how’s it feel to be as tall as Fei?”

“Is Chrollo’s sack comfortable?”

The Troupe was spitting taunts and insults as Phinks pounded at the inside of the stolen Fun Fun Cloth. He supposed he should be grateful he hadn’t been pummeled into next Tuesday, because Chrollo outmatched him in speed, battle experience _and_ Nen proficiency, but it was still less than ideal to be trapped in a cloth bag with no light.

…and be the size of a pencil.

Chrollo said nothing, just holding the bag in the palm of his hand and listening to Phinks yell for a moment.

Feitan leaned in, whispering to the bag. “Sorry, Phinks, you know how the boss is about his clothes. He cares more about that fur jacket than his overly gelled hair –”

He stopped when a hand around his throat choked his vocal chords off. Feitan felt his feet leaving the ground as Chrollo lifted him up with one arm, his hooded eyes serious and unforgiving.

“Fei? Fei, are you okay? Fuck, boss, don’t hurt him, he’s just being stupid,” Phinks’ protests sounded like small squeaks. The rest of the Troupe watched on, waiting for Chrollo to pass judgment. Feitan was caught between laughing and fearing for his life. A strange, mid-range cough was all he could manage, and the hand gripping his neck tightened.

The next thing he saw was white. Chrollo had dunked him, face first, into a snowbank, so his entire head was submerged in freezing slush. A foot on his back pressed him all the way in. Ice soaked through his clothes and he started to shiver. Seconds later, a body fell on top of him, and he heard Phinks apologizing profusely.

“Snow angels? What a good idea, Feitan, I should’ve thought of that.” Chrollo’s voice was haughty, but his footsteps faded away, and Phinks and Feitan thanked whatever God had saved their lives from a decidedly colder and more deadly fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is KomugiMeruem!


	8. KomugiMeruem

“…so this is a common phenomenon, then?”

Meruem held up a tiny glass ornament, his reflection staring back at him with wide eyes. The force of his sneeze alone would shatter it into a million pieces. He wasn’t sure why humans chose such fragile materials to decorate the flora with, but it was foolishly impractical.

Komugi’s smile drew his attention.

She was holding a box of ornaments in her arms, the dim lighting casting shadows on her cheeks. “Yes! Lots of people celebrate Christmas. My family always found the money to get a tree, even if we couldn’t put any presents under it.”

“Another failure of capitalism.”

“Stop it, you’re supposed to be jolly.” Komugi stuck out her tongue at him before setting the box down.

“Is that a rule?”

“I guess it’s not, officially, but it should be! This is the season of generosity and kindness. If someone’s grouchy, it ruins the mood.”

“I see.”

“Can you help direct me? I’m not sure where to put them.”

“I can decorate it for you.”

Meruem could probably cover the entire tree in less than ten seconds, using only his tail. It would save time and be completely proportionate. There were algorithms for evenly distributing the ornaments, and maybe even a special way to compliment every individual light bulb –

“No, silly, we’re doing this together!” She had that look on her face. The look that said, _don’t argue with me, I’m more determined than you are patient_. Meruem sighed.

“Fine.” He picked up a small red sleigh on a hook, giving it a home on one of the lower branches. “E3, F7, N12.”

A while ago, they’d realized that giving Komugi directions based on a Gungi board was the most efficient way for her to understand space. She could just picture the board in her mind and her surroundings became infinitely easier to navigate. Meruem still preferred guiding her hands, because it gave him a chance to feel the silken softness of her skin and appreciate the life he was taking care of, but she was fiercely independent and liked to do most things herself.

She hung a golden deer exactly where he’d instructed. “Is that right?”

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

Over the past two weeks, Komugi had introduced him to some of the other winter rituals, like balling up snow and throwing it in people’s faces (one of his favorite activities, but he had to remember to be gentle, or risk seriously injuring someone) and singing traditional folk songs on people’s doorsteps.

Komugi had been looking forward to this one in particular. She’d asked he cut down a tree from the nearby forest and bring it inside so they could deck it with lights and ornaments and tinsel. Though he didn’t quite understand the appeal, when her lip trembled and she said, “Please, Meruem!”, he couldn’t say no, so here they were, the fresh smell of pine and mint and cinnamon dusting the air with what she described as “holiday cheer”.

The lengths she went to and the time she invested in this were beyond endearing.

“I got you something, Komugi.”

“Really? What is it?”

Meruem held out his hand, a tiny Gungi piece attached to a string lying flat on his palm. Her delicate fingers searched around before clasping the ornament.

“What? This feels like a – is it what I think it is?”

“I’m sure it is. The Spy, so you can hang your favorite piece on the tree.”

“Oh, I love it, Meruem!”

“H4, B3, E7.”

Komugi hung the piece up and dug through the box for another ornament. “This is one of my favorite traditions.”

“Why? You can’t see the finished product, nor can you revel in your accomplishments once it’s completed. G5, E3, F9.”

“Well, other people can! I like working with friends and family to create something beautiful. Even if I can’t see it, they can, and it builds bonds.”

Meruem said nothing for a moment, just watching as she teetered on a stool to place a candy cane. There was an eyelash on her cheek. Her sniffles were worse than ever, thanks to the freezing weather, and she was always blowing her nose, the skin red and irritated. The tiny freckles from their summer outside were starting to fade. He tried to imagine what her eyes would look like with sparkling Christmas lights reflected in them. Perhaps he’d ask to play a round of Gungi by the tree, before the holiday season was over.

He registered the slip of her foot before she did. The candy cane fell to the floor, and she fell into his arms, her face scrunched up with displeasure.

“Idiot,” Meruem said affectionately, brushing the eyelash off her cheek with his thumb.

“When we’re done, can you lift me up so I can put the star on top?”

“Of course.”

It would probably take a few days to finish, at the rate they were going, but Meruem didn’t mind at all. Komugi’s spirited laughter was the best gift he could ever receive, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is HisoKuro!


	9. HisoKuro

Their apartment wasn’t particularly festive for the holidays. He was no Santa, and spent more time curled up on the windowsill than decorating, but he’d half-expected Illumi or Hisoka to take matters into their own hands. They hadn’t. Chrollo chalked it up to Illumi’s sheltered (and Jewish) upbringing, and Hisoka’s lack of interest in anything that wasn’t violently offensive. It still felt incredibly lonely compared to the rousing parties the Troupe always threw. No matter what kind of dump they were in, Kortopi would always fill it with glimmering Christmas trees and holly, and the gift-giving ceremonies were phenomenal. There was no price limit on anything. Invaluable artifacts were often exchanged, some worth an entire country’s economy.

Yes, the Troupe took Christmas very seriously, and Chrollo was a little disappointed his new roommates didn’t.

Moonlight filtered through the window and the curtains fluttered gently. A lone candle by Chrollo’s side permitted him to read, but there was a prickling on his skin that made concentrating difficult. It was the inkling of instinct. Something was going to happen.

He closed his book with a _snap_. The ghost of an aura – Hisoka’s, by the tangible stickiness in the air – was flickering in the doorway.

“What is it?”

“You could sense me? I thought I’d snuck up on you. Maybe next time.” Hisoka’s voice was a soft purr. They both knew he was lying through his teeth, but Chrollo just stared him down, waiting for him to continue. “You seem upset.”

“I seem upset.”

“Yes. Do you need anything?”

He wondered if, while reading, he’d let his aura get too transparent, or if Hisoka was just uncannily observant. Perhaps it was only a guess and Hisoka was prodding for information.

Chrollo decided to indulge him anyway. He was too tired for mind games. “I’m a little nostalgic.”

“Tell me about it.” Hisoka made what was probably supposed to be an inviting gesture. It came off as flippant, but Chrollo knew better. He was paying close attention.

“I miss the Troupe’s holiday spirit. There aren’t any decorations, and I can’t say I’m sure you even celebrate anything around this time of year. Do you?”

“Oh? The holiday spirit passes me by, usually, but Danchou, there are decorations! Didn’t you notice the mistletoe above your head~?”

Chrollo fought the urge to glance upward, he tried his best _not_ to, but the curiosity was stronger. There was indeed a bouquet of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Gyo told him it was attached with Bungee Gum. Clever.

“Why.”

“Don’t you know the rules? If you stand under mistletoe, you –”

“No.”

“I didn’t finish. We have to –”

Chrollo surveyed Hisoka’s muscular form, the way his arms flexed as he talked with his hands, the tiny veins in his neck. He wasn’t _hideous_. His personality, however…

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, the answer is still no.” 

There was a flash of movement. He didn’t feel remotely threatened, there was no blood lust in the air and Hisoka’s aura was still calm, so when a strong forearm was pressed to his neck and his back was against the wall, Chrollo wasn’t bothered. He just looked into Hisoka’s golden eyes with bemusement.

“Let me _finish_.” Hisoka cleared his throat impatiently. “In our house, standing under mistletoe means something a little different. We started this tradition a long time ago. The two lucky people, caught under mistletoe, have to fight. To the death.”

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than what he’d imagined. “And you and Illumi have just never been caught under mistletoe together, is that it?”

“Yes. He’s much too observant to fall for it. But, you…” Hisoka tapped Chrollo’s cheek with a long nail.

Chrollo scoffed. “It’s too early for your present, don’t you think? You’ll be spoilt.”

“Do you have a problem spoiling me, Danchou?”

He considered. They probably wouldn’t celebrate the holidays in any real capacity, so this might be his only chance at gift-giving until the Troupe met up again later. The resignation must’ve been reflected in his face because a fist embedded itself into his stomach, Hisoka laughing gleefully.

Chrollo blocked the next punch and kicked Hisoka in the face, hard enough to draw blood from his nose. There was an enthusiastic gleam in Hisoka’s golden eyes. He grabbed Chrollo’s arm with strength that threatened to break it and pulled, sending him flying forward into a powerful fist. Chrollo ducked and barreled into Hisoka’s torso instead, knocking the wind out of him.

Using the extra second he was afforded, Chrollo slammed Hisoka into the floor, straddling his hips to pin him down and gripping his wrists so tightly there was an audible _crack_. Hisoka smiled up at him. There was blood between his teeth, but it only seemed to excite him more. Chrollo sighed.

“Settle for a draw, now, and I’ll get you something nice for Christmas.”

Hisoka raised a thin eyebrow. “Will it be something I can unwrap?”

“It might be.”

Chrollo felt a hand gripping his thigh and he slapped it away, standing. “You have to be patient.”

“I’ll do my best, Danchou~ and in the meantime, try to avoid any mistletoe, because I’ll only be this nice _once_.”

Chrollo rolled his eyes and went back to his book. He had to begrudgingly admit to himself that perhaps his roommate had some holiday spirit, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is GingKite!


	10. GingKite

The table shook as Ging slammed down a hotel onto the board. The red rectangle of death, as Kite liked to call it, was in the _worst_ place imaginable – Boardwalk. Kite sat back in his chair and groaned. Things were just not playing out to his advantage, this round.

“I fucking got you! Try and get through this side of the board now, mother fuckin’ too tall string bean blondie piece of –”

“Did you forget I own all the reds, yellows, _and_ greens? I can put a house on any of them and make your life miserable.” Kite retorted, rolling the die and narrowly escaping bankruptcy as he downed another shot of bourbon.

Originally, they were playing with eggnog, since it was a family affair. Every time you landed on someone else’s property, you not only had to pay the fine, but also take a drink of eggnog. After Gon and Killua dipped out around midnight to go do whatever it is they did in their free time (neither Ging nor Kite liked to imagine), the eggnog had been replaced with straight whiskey, and the rules about drinking it were slowly slipping away.

“So why haven’t you?” Ging slurred, pointing an accusatory finger in Kite’s face, almost brushing the tip of his nose. “He who strikes first wins!”

“This is Monopoly, not chess, unshaven garbage man. I don’t know how you got to be part of the Zodiacs when you’re so ridiculously uncultured.”

“What the hell do metaphors have to do with culture?”

“Maybe if you weren’t an idiot, you’d know.”

“Horse-faced horse-haired – _horse_!”

“Shut up, you dirty heap of –”

“Oh, for fuck’s _sake_!” Ging looked like he was about to flip the table through the window. Kite took the liberty of sliding Ging’s shoe into the Jail square for him.

“See? I don’t even need to worry about Boardwalk, you’ll just go land yourself in jail and save me the trouble.”

“Come over here and say that, pale pansy ass.”

“My _ass_ is not _pansy_ –”

“It was last night,”

There was a scuffle as Kite leaned over the table, wrestling Ging’s head into his grasp and putting him in a firm headlock. Aura flared dangerously between them as they struggled.

The consistency of their Nen was shaky at best, while under the influence, but it was a house rule to not destroy anything in the event of an argument. That had come about out of necessity: Killua and Gon were responsible for _more_ than their fair share of broken furniture. Kite and Ging, while more refined in their age and Nen usage, were perhaps just as volatile when drunk.

A misplaced kick sent the table – and board, and pieces, and cards – flying, as Ging tried to wrest himself free of Kite’s grasp. In terms of physical strength, Kite was weaker, but he could also hold his liquor just a smidge better, and his headlock was nigh unbreakable.

Ging managed to choke out another insult anyway. “Maybe if your clown had played instead of you, I wouldn’t be winning,”

There was a quiet _poof_ as the clown in question popped up at Kite’s shoulder. It laughed wickedly, not bothering to preface its spin with an introduction, for Ging had been such a large part of its creation, and in the split second it took for Kite to grab his broadsword (bad spin), Ging was across the room, poised to fight.

The quiet crackling of the fire in the fireplace and soft sounds of Christmas music filled the air between them.

Ging made the first move. He grabbed a handful of the property cards, hurling them at Kite’s face with deadly speed. Kite ducked and dodged, escaping the onslaught unscathed but for a few tears in his ugly Christmas sweater. The cards were embedded in the wall behind him.

“Damn it, Ging, we need those –”

A shot glass full of whiskey missed his ear by an inch. Now they were just wasting good liquor.

Ging’s next weapon was the board itself, lying innocently on the floor. It whistled through the air but Kite’s broadsword sliced through it easily. The two halves took their place in the wall next to the cards, and Kite threw his hands up into the air with exasperation.

“Look what you did!”

“I just wanted to give you something to slice so you didn’t have your sword out all night!”

“What, was it going to get in the way of Monopoly? I’m not so sore a loser that I’d impale you if I landed on Boardwalk.”

“Can you impale me even if you don’t land on Boardwalk?”

“I’ll _never_ land on Boardwalk at this rate, you lumpy pile of grey matter. The board’s broken. We have to fix it. Do you have duct tape?”

“Monopoly isn’t what I had in mind –”

“You can’t just leave things like this unresolved, I have to know which one of us is better at monopolizing fictional properties.” Kite slumped on the table, holding his forehead. The alcohol was making the room spin. “Why are you such a pain in the ass? I could’ve had a useful Hatsu, I could’ve spent that time looking for you doing something else like study animals, I could’ve led a stress-free life…”

“It’s a good thing I’m pretty. And good in bed.”

“Oh my god, shut _up_.”

“You love me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is the Adultrio!


	11. Adultrio

“How many bags of popcorn should I make?”

“Just enough for us, Illumi doesn’t eat popcorn.”

“Of course he doesn’t.”

Hisoka shuffled through a deck of cards absently as he readied the microwave. Chrollo was at the stove, mixing up some hot chocolate for their movie marathon. 

“Are you going to use the marshmallows shaped like snowflakes?”

“Mm.”

“Good. Illu-chan, do you want marshmallows?” Hisoka called, popping open the first bag of popcorn.

Illumi padded into the kitchen. His long hair was tied up in a messy topknot and a set of festive fluffy socks protected his feet from the cold tile floor.

Hisoka had once suggested they sock-slide around the apartment in a mock tournament to see who could last the longest without crashing into anything.

Illumi had won.

“No, thank you.”

“No marshmallows? Illu, are you sure? They have a cute shape and everything.” Hisoka finished pouring the popcorn and draped an arm lazily around Illumi’s waist, cooing into his ear.

“Quite sure. I would like some hazelnut flavoring, though, and extra milk.”

“More milk, coming up.” Chrollo’s face was twisted up with concentration as he measured out the ingredients precisely. Among his other hobbies, he was something of a hot chocolate connoisseur. It made him a perfect roommate for the holidays.

When everything was satisfactory, he handed Hisoka and Illumi their mugs, expertly decorated with marshmallows, a candy cane stirring stick and a mountain of whipped cream. He ducked into the fridge to grab some chocolate pudding for himself before they trooped into the living room.

Their Christmas tree was decorated with extravagant trophies. Relics from fights, stolen artifacts worth millions of Jenny, and some inside jokes from Christmases past. There was a set of reindeer ears Illumi had worn from one year, a collar with jingling bells from some of their more holiday-centric sexual exploits, and some keepsakes from their respective childhoods. There were no presents under the tree yet. Chrollo had initiated a rule – because Hisoka and Illumi couldn’t contain themselves and always illicitly opened their presents early – that gifts would only be placed under the tree Christmas morning.

The mantle hung their stockings and tiny clumps of mistletoe were attached to the ceiling. It was a standard practice, often made more interesting if all three of them happened to be standing under it at once.

“What are we watching?” Illumi took a sip of his cocoa, dark eyes widening just a fraction. “Chrollo, this is exceptional.”

“ _Home Alone_. And thank you.”

Hisoka flicked through channels until he found the one streaming Christmas movies. The opening credits were starting to play, and they curled into the couch together, Hisoka lounging across Chrollo’s lap and Illumi tucking his knees to his chest next to them.

“The main character is a little boy?”

“Yes. Haven’t you seen this movie before, Illu?”

“I have not.”

“He’s a really good actor. Or he was, anyway.”

Chrollo and Hisoka snacked on popcorn as the movie progressed, with Chrollo dipping his popcorn in the pudding every few bites. Their heater whirred quietly in the background.

A few minutes later, Illumi spoke up again. “…did his parents really forget him? They just left on a plane?”

Soft silence blanketed them like snow. Being left alone was an experience they all shared, albeit in different ways. Isolation was palpable in their personalities and it was something they were only just learning to cope with. Thankfully, their living arrangements meant they had a sturdy support system for days when awful memories were more haunting than usual.

“Some people weren’t meant to be parents.” Hisoka murmured.

The subtext laced in those words drew out aches in Chrollo’s chest. He turned to Illumi, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, as a subtle reassurance, and ran his hand through Hisoka’s hair. It wasn’t gelled back today, and so was soft, glowing a pleasant orange color in the dim lighting. Illumi laid his head on Chrollo’s shoulder.

The tension melted away slowly with the change of scenes in the movie and there was a collective sigh among them. For the rest of the film, they offered a rousing commentary, cracking jokes and pointing out tiny ingenuities in the plot. Illumi wore a mustache of whipped cream for at least an hour before Hisoka kissed it off him.

By the time the title credits were rolling, they were in a sloppy cuddle puddle, Chrollo the last one awake. He pulled a throw blanket over them and settled in for a hazy night on the couch. The twinkling Christmas lights snagged a memory of all the letters he’d written to the North Pole, as a child, asking for a home, or a parent, or even a sense of belonging. He’d never received a reply. It crushed him, at the time, and he grew up thinking that maybe those things just weren’t meant for him. As his eyes fluttered shut, he reflected on how lucky he was to have found his place in the world, with the Troupe and the Trio.

Maybe Santa had read his letters after all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't seen _Home Alone_ , it's a Christmas movie where the main character, a young boy, is left alone in his house by his family, who fly to Paris for their holiday vacation. 
> 
> Tomorrow is the conclusion of this set of drabbles, thank you all for sticking with me through this! <3


	12. KilluGon III

Killua shook his messy hair out of his face as he shuffled to the door. Tiredness fogged his vision, but he could see the snow falling gently outside, and tiny icicle webs on the windows reflected Christmas lights from the streets. He’d woken up late today because the apartment was toasty warm and so, _so_ comfortable to sleep in.

There was a burst of frigid air when the door swung open.

“Merry Christmas, Killua!” Gon was beaming at him, holding out a neatly wrapped present in his hands.

Killua felt his heart stop for a terrifying and concerning second. “Merry Christmas, Gon. Is that – is that for me?”

“Of course!”

“…thank you.” Killua accepted the gift hesitantly, irrationally afraid that this was some sort of daydream. “Here, come inside, it’s cold.”

The door closed behind them, and Gon took off his snowy boots, revealing knee-high socks with holly on them. His entire outfit was green, which was fitting for the season, but also looked sort of ridiculous. In an endearing way.

“Well? Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Right now?”

“Yes, silly.”

Killua’s fingers shook a little as he started peeling away the wrapping paper. It was a slow endeavor, and not one piece was torn while he worked the tape off the present. He was left with a rather plain looking box. Removing the cover, Killua had to hide a sharp intake of breath.

It was a knitted scarf with beautifully ombréd purple hues, the letter “K” in white at one end.

He pulled it out of the box and draped it around his neck. It was incredibly soft, and thick enough to be genuinely warming. It also smelled like Gon. It smelled a lot like Gon. Sandalwood and light musk and freshly mown grass –

“I knitted it myself!”

Killua’s emotions spiked, and he stared openly at his friend, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “You… knitted this?”

“Yeah, I took lessons in town for a week to learn how, and there’s probably a ton of mistakes, I’m not very good yet, but I think it turned out okay!”

A blush settled on Killua’s cheeks and he looked away hastily. “It – yes, it’s. It’s really good.”

_…I love it._

Killua bit his tongue.

“I’m so glad you like it! Do you have plans for today? You can come spend Christmas with us, we’re making dinner and then we’ll go caroling, probably.”

 “Wh – what? Spend Christmas with you and Ging?”

“Yeah!”

“You mean it?”

“You’re always welcome in our house, Killua, even on Christmas. Especially on Christmas! You helped us decorate, after all.”

“I – uh, I’d like that.”

“Okay! Grab whatever you need and let’s go, he’s probably not up yet, so I need to wake him.”

“Wait, I, uh, I actually got you something too.” Killua retrieved a disheveled parcel from the kitchen. Wrapping was not his strong suit. He held it out sheepishly. Gon’s eyes lit up, and he started tearing at the paper. “It’s nothing, really, if you don’t like it I can just get you a gift card or something –”

“Killua, this is beautiful!” Gon held up the fishing bait in awe. “Where did you get this?”

“…I made it.”

“You made this? It must’ve taken hours!”

 _Days_ was a more accurate estimate. Gon had mentioned he loved to go fishing with Ging during the summer months, but that he could never find his baitbox when he needed it, and so he often had to use a bare hook. Killua had researched the species of fish that lived in the lake by their town, figured out what they were attracted to, and painstakingly pieced together a unique bait for the sole purpose of catching those fish. It wasn’t a flashy or expensive present and Killua had been uncertain about it while in the process of making it, but the smile on Gon’s face was beyond encouraging.

He felt a warmth bloom in his stomach.

“So you like it?”

“I love it! Oh, I can’t wait to use it, but the lake is frozen over – maybe I can cut a hole in the top layer, like they do in the arctic!”

“I’m sorry it’s not cool or anything, I just got in the habit of giving practical gifts –”

“Killua, this is _so_ cool! Thank you so much, I’ll use it forever! And don’t worry, you’re not the only one who likes giving practical gifts.”

“That’s true, this scarf is really warm –”

“Not that. This,” Gon reached out a hand, gently grasping the edge of Killua’s new scarf, and pulled him into a chaste kiss. Killua was utterly frozen in place, and when Gon broke the kiss, his lips felt incredibly cold. “ _That_ was your real present.”

Killua felt like his face was on fire, but he managed to mumble, “That’s the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

“The scarf, or that?”

“…both.”

Gon laughed, the sound prettier than all the Christmas carols in the world. “I’ll knit you a new one next year and it’ll be even better, I promise!”

Killua doubted it was possible, but he also trusted Gon to keep his word, and found himself already looking forward to next year’s Christmas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the 12 Drabbles of Christmas! I might write/post a few other holiday-themed works before the 25th, but it depends on my schedule. Anyway, thank you all for reading!


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